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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501967">Sensory Detail</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe'>ProstheticLoVe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Articles of Clothing, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Takes Care of Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Takes Care of Ian Gallagher, Mickey and Ian share clothes, POV Ian Gallagher, POV Mickey Milkovich, Spoilers for all seasons, sort've</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:35:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The hoodie didn’t find its way back to Ian that night, nor the next. Mickey had no intention of giving it back. It was the first (but not the last) thing Gallagher gave him. And in typical Ian Gallagher form, it was something Mickey didn’t realize he needed.</p><p> </p><p>A tale of five pieces of clothing Mickey steals from Ian and the one article of clothing Ian gives back to Mickey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>298</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sensory Detail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: No one belongs to me! Everything is property of JW, I’m just here to play.</p><p>Author’s Note: I got this idea in my head after seeing I think a post on tumblr about the navy blue long sleeve shirt in 11x05 and I just had to write this. And well, in my true form, it became a monster. The clothing should be pretty self explanatory and I probably stretched the truth a bit, but it's in canon as much as possible. </p><p>I hope you guys enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You cold?”</p><p>Mickey looked up at Gallagher with raised eyebrows. A snarky retort about letterman jackets and girlfriend-boyfriend bullshit on the tip of his tongue. As the words formed and prepared to tumble from his lips, a particularly chilly wind whipped through the broken windows in the abandoned building they were hanging out in. He rubbed his upper arms to ward off the cold and that was all Gallagher needed to slide out of his grey hoodie and toss it on Mickey’s lap.</p><p>He tried to muster a glare, but Ian just smirked in response and took a long drink from the 40 Mickey had stolen for them.</p><p>“Thanks,” Mickey muttered.</p><p>He slid the hoodie on and when Gallagher was busy rifling through the backpack he’d brought filled with snacks and beer, Mickey turned into the hoodie and breathed in the sweet scent of <em> Ian Gallagher </em>. Closing his eyes, he savored the moment of calm in his otherwise chaotic life.</p><p>The hoodie didn’t find its way back to Ian that night, nor the next. Mickey had no intention of giving it back. </p><p>It was the first (but not the last) thing Gallagher gave him. And in typical Ian Gallagher form, it was something Mickey didn’t realize he needed.</p><p>~~~</p><p>After the shit with his dad, when his face resembled mince meat and he couldn’t breathe properly without letting out shuddering, wheezy sounds, Mickey wrapped himself in that grey hoodie. </p><p>Vaguely, he could still smell Gallagher and for a few minutes he could trick himself into thinking he was keeping him warm.</p><p>Warm <em> and </em> safe.</p><p>Even when the world seemed worthless and scary, he could look at that hoodie and remember that there’s at least one person out there that gives a shit about him.</p><hr/><p>When Ian was 14, he decided he was tired of wearing Lip’s clothes. Really his irritation with wearing Lip’s clothes started much earlier than 14, but that’s when he decided to do something about it. </p><p>He took the L to the nearest Target and browsed through the store. Fiona had told him to go out and grab some toilet paper and diapers for Liam, so he used that as an excuse to head to the gargantuan store. </p><p>While he was standing in the men’s clothing section, he found a pack of grey t-shirts he decided he wanted. So like any good Gallagher, he shoved the pack of three grey undershirts into his pants, bought the toilet paper and diapers, and headed back to the South Side.</p><p>Ian wore those three grey t-shirts until they wore down. One of them Lip stole and left at Karen’s house. Another one got a huge hole in the neckline of it, which was deemed unwearable even by Gallagher standards. He was down to one grey t-shirt the <em> summer that changed his life </em>.</p><p>The one where he spent the entire time with Mickey Milkovich starting from when they fucked on the baseball field to when he was sent back to juvie for punching a cop.</p><p>Ian hadn’t realized the grey t-shirt went missing until it reappeared in his room when he and Mickey started their <em> thing </em>up again after the whole mess of a wedding with the Russian. He found it crumbled up in a ball in the laundry bin and like a dutiful boyfriend, he washed all of the laundry, folded, and tucked it in the dresser.</p><p>It wasn’t until days later when Mickey put it on to sleep in - when he was still sleeping on the floor as if anyone bought that bullshit - did Ian see how he cuddled into it. </p><p>Like he’d been wearing it for <em> a while </em>. </p><p>Like he found <em> comfort </em> in it. </p><p>Like it was a <em> favorite </em> clothing item.</p><p>Ian grinned, “you look good in grey.”</p><p>What Ian really wanted to say was that Mickey looked good in <em> everything.  </em></p><p>Mickey flicked him off and lit a cigarette. He sat down on his tiny twin bed and passed it to Ian.</p><p>“Found it in your drawer,” he said dismissively.</p><p>Ian leaned back against the wall. Looking out of the corner of his eye as he inhaled and exhaled the smoke, he saw Mickey eyeing him with a tiny amused smirk.</p><p>“You gonna sleep on the floor again tonight?”</p><p>Mickey chewed on his lower lip, the telltale sign that he was nervous and trying to come up with a snarky reply.</p><p>He settled on a one shoulder shrug and hunched his body forward so Ian couldn’t see his face.</p><p>Placing a hand on the back of his neck, Mickey turned toward him.</p><p>“It’s okay, Mick.”</p><p>With a single nod, Mickey plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a long drag. They continued to smoke the cigarette in silence, but as everyone began to drift to bed, Ian was happy to note that Mickey didn’t set up his little bed on the ground. Instead, he stayed on Ian’s bed and made sure that Carl was sleeping before he laid down. </p><p>Ian wanted to tell him to take his shirt off so he could feel their skin pressed together, but he figured it would be best to let Mickey get comfortable.</p><p>Instead he turned onto his side, shuffled a little closer to Mickey under the covers and fell asleep to his breath tickling his neck. </p><p>It wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep, but when he woke up the next morning, Mickey’s arm had wrapped around his waist so the soft grey t-shirt was pressed against him. He stayed like that until the sun came up and then made his way to the pull-up bar to start on his morning exercises.</p><p>Years later after they both got out of prison, they were strolling the aisles after work at Costco. Ian was whining about his PO and Mickey was patiently listening to him. </p><p>They got to the clothing aisle and Mickey grabbed a pack of grey t-shirts. Ian didn’t notice until they got home from the store an hour later. He couldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the night after he spotted them. </p><p>Days later after Ian had worn two of the three t-shirts, he was happy to note that Mickey picked one of those to wear instead of the new one. To him, that proved Mickey liked his scent just as much as Ian liked his. </p><p>And maybe he also had a special fondness for grey t-shirts.</p><p>Especially when he stole them from his husband. </p><hr/><p>Ian liked striped boxers. Mickey figured this out pretty quickly after every time he stuffed his hand into Ian’s pants or tugged his jeans down, there were striped boxers. </p><p>Sometimes they were one color, checkered, or a little more raggedy and belonged in the trash.</p><p>But after getting a glimpse of striped boxers again and again, Mickey couldn’t see stripes without thinking of Ian.</p><p>As he got older, he wasn’t sure if Ian actually liked them or if he’d gotten so used to wearing them because they were hand-me-downs and he had no other option.</p><p>Mickey never really asked.</p><p>All he knew was that he liked seeing Ian’s pale, skinny, long legs draped in those dorky blue and white striped boxers. It fit his nerdy personality for some reason. Unlike those gold shorts or the black booty shorts he wore when he was working at the club.</p><p>(Years down the road on an anniversary, Ian would also try to wear black, silk boxers as a way to turn Mickey on and while it worked, he preferred the baggy blue and white striped ones more than anything. It just reminded him of teen Ian and all the fun they had when their biggest problem was figuring out where to bang around their neighborhood.)</p><p>Somewhere along the way, Mickey realized he didn’t really mind wearing the striped boxers either. Maybe he liked the breeziness of them. Perhaps he liked how soft they were. Or maybe he just liked them because they belonged to Ian.</p><p>The first time he stole a pair from Ian was when he stayed over at the Gallagher house for the first time when he was avoiding - or hiding - from Svetlana.</p><p>He’d given the whole marriage thing a shot, figured it wasn’t for him. After finding Ian again, it was easier to shack up with him.</p><p>The moment Ian reappeared he realized how fucking ridiculous it was to try to feel excited about a woman he didn’t even like and about a baby he didn’t want. </p><p>He figured out pretty quickly after spotting him in that club that Ian was the light in the darkness he needed to guide him back to reality. </p><p>When he saw him again, it was as if a light had been switched and all the shit he’d been shoveling further down rose to the surface with a flick of recognition on Ian’s face.</p><p>(It probably also helped that while Ian had run off to join the army or whatever, he missed him a lot. It was like that time he tried to give up cigarettes and he couldn’t stop thinking about having one.)</p><p>So the moment Ian reappeared, he realized he didn’t want to leave his side.</p><p>The first night he stayed over at the Gallagher’s he made sure to sleep on the floor. He barely slept the night before after finding Ian in that disgusting club. Call it worry or plain old paranoia, but he was going to watch over Ian until he knew he was okay. </p><p>He grabbed as many blankets as he could to make a little bed on the floor of Ian’s bedroom.</p><p>Ian watched him and made a comment about not having to sleep on the floor, but Mickey ignored him. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but there was no way he was going to sleep in the same bed as Gallagher.</p><p>Not with so many people in the house.</p><p>When he woke up the next morning, he realized he forgot to grab a change of clothes, so he grabbed a pair of Ian’s boxers - striped ones. </p><p>He figured Ian would call him out or tell him he couldn’t wear them. He figured Ian would tell him to leave, that he was done with him after everything they’d gone through. Instead, he watched him quietly over breakfast and invited him to the club later.</p><p>The rest of the day Mickey wore those boxers. They were a little too long, a little too baggy, but they were comfortable. They were Ian’s.</p><p>A new reminder that he was back with him. They were back where they were supposed to be.</p><p> Later that night when they found themselves at that pretentious loft party, Ian maneuvered him outside onto the deck. He gave him a smile that was a little hazy from the booze they’d been drinking, but so purely <em> Ian Gallagher </em>it made something in Mickey’s chest tighten. He told him he wanted to enjoy the view of the city, but Mickey had the feeling he wanted to get him alone away from all the other fuckers at the party.</p><p>Listening to Ian regale him with some crazy story, Mickey was hypnotized by those plushy lips he missed so much. He wanted to lean in to kiss him. They were in a safe - as safe as they could get - place. He might as well give in. </p><p>For once.</p><p>And it was...<em> freeing </em>.</p><p>The softness of Ian’s lips rubbing against his, a little more gently than when they were at the club, cozier than the passion from earlier. A promise of good things to come. </p><p>It was perfect. </p><p>Mickey couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to give this up for so long. He was a fucking idiot to think he could stay away from Ian Gallagher. </p><p>~~~</p><p>Looking back, that was just one night of many that changed things between them - one of the several through their history that shifted the dynamics. But Mickey had to rank that as one of his favorite moments together. (And there were quite a few.)</p><p>He liked the privacy and security that surrounded them. Most of all, he liked waking up to Ian in the morning.</p><p>He wanted that every morning. </p><p>After that realization, Mickey went back to his house and grabbed some shit to take to Ian’s to unofficially move in. He dumped the small amount of clothing he’d grabbed into the dresser and took in the way their clothes mixed together. Mickey’s dark boxers and Ian’s striped ones. Mickey’s flannels and Ian’s t-shirts. The mixture of worn jeans. They merged so swiftly and seamlessly, it was difficult to tell whose shit was whose. </p><p>Ian watched him silently from the bed, as if he knew what this moment meant too. </p><p>When Mickey turned to him, he grinned in that boyish, secretive way that made his stomach squeeze in excitement.</p><p>~~~</p><p>When he moved back in after their prison stint, he dumped his clothes back in with Ian’s. There wasn’t that much that still fit him from years ago, he’d grown in muscle, but he still had some things. </p><p>Just like Ian did. </p><p>Stuffing his clothes into the empty spaces in the dresser, Mickey opened the underwear draw to shove in his boxers.</p><p>He couldn’t help but grin when he spotted the stripes.</p><p>They looked exactly the same as the one’s he’d stolen from him years ago when he lived in the Gallagher household the first time around. Mickey would even assume they were the same except he knew he’d stolen most of Ian’s boxers and had never really returned them. He grabbed a pair and some clean clothes to change into after his shower later. </p><p>Old habits die hard.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Weeks later when Ian was at work, he asked if Mickey could stop at Costco to pick up some things. He had the day off, so he took the bus. He pushed past all the soccer moms and old people as he grabbed random shit from Ian’s list. </p><p>He was in the clothes section when he began to browse for some flannels to add to his collection. Sandy had barely brought any clothes from the house and what he did get wasn’t anything he was going to wear now.</p><p>Picking up a few flannels, he tossed them in the cart and then made his way down toward the jeans aisle. Spotting a pack of striped boxers on his way, he grabbed two and tossed them in with the other shit. </p><p>He figured Ian probably needed more boxers too. </p><p>Later, after Ian came home and took a shower, he was rifling through the drawers when he pulled out a pair of the new striped boxers. He raised an eyebrow at Mickey who gave a little shrug back.</p><p>“Know how much you like stripes.”</p><p>Ian slid them on.</p><p>“You mean, you know how much <em> you </em> like stripes.”</p><p>“Whatever, bitch. We’re <em> married </em>. Legally obligated to share shit.”</p><p>Ian grinned in response, but weeks later a new pack of boxers showed up in the drawer. Slowly over the years, their boxer drawer turned more and more into a drawer of stripes. A whole slew. It got to the point where neither of them could tell each other’s underwear apart.</p><p>Not that Mickey minded anyway, he was always going to steal his husband’s boxers.</p><p>Like their relationship, their love of striped boxers had lasted the test of time.</p><hr/><p>Mickey would never admit this, but he enjoyed Ian’s long sleeved shirts. He liked the way they surrounded him like a hug from his husband. They were always soft, a little too baggy on his frame, but they smelled so distinctly of <em> Ian Gallagher </em>. </p><p>He liked sniffing the long sleeved shirts and knowing that Ian had just worn them too. It was comforting - a balm to a wound. </p><p>Recently, he wore that navy long sleeved shirt Ian had worn when he’d left him at the border. The fucker tried to get him to take it off his back to give to that dead body in the ambulance, but there was no way he was parting with one of Ian’s long sleeved shirts.</p><p>His favorite was the off-white one.</p><p>He’d seen that shirt on many occasions through the years of their fuck-buddies-turned-relationship-turned-<em> marriage </em>. </p><p>Mickey first noticed it when they were teens. It was a bit too big on Ian back then. He’d been wearing it when Kash shot Mickey in the leg. He remembered cause he was focusing on the unbuttoned buttons while he told him, “it’s okay, Mick. It’ll be fine,” before Mickey told him to leave before the cops came. </p><p>Even back then, Mickey didn’t want him getting in trouble.</p><p>But the most memorable occasion was when he wore it down to the docks when they met up after he broke out of prison. He liked the way that off-white shirt hugged Ian’s form as an adult. But he liked it even more when he brought it with him to Mexico and forgot it in the backseat of the car.</p><p>It was only after Mickey drove across the border and parked in the nearest parking lot to take in the strange mix of emotions that he found it. He pulled off at a rest stop and reached in the backseat for his bag to change back into men’s clothes. </p><p>It was then that he spotted the off-white long sleeve shirt crumpled up in a ball. It was anyone’s guess if Ian had left it there on purpose or had just forgotten it, but Mickey buried his face in it and not for the first time - nor the last - he cried over Ian Gallagher.</p><p>~~~</p><p>When he got back from Mexico, he put the small amount of shit he’d taken with him into storage. He made sure to bring back that off-white long sleeved shirt.</p><p>He was intent on giving it back to the giant ginger fuck whose life was inevitably tangled up in his.</p><p>“What’s this?” Ian asked. </p><p>Mickey could hear the note of surprise when he spotted the long sleeve t-shirt neatly folded in the dresser. It was only a few weeks after they had gotten out of prison. Mickey had done the laundry and folded it to stuff it back into their cramped dresser.</p><p>It was no big deal, he got pretty good at folding shit in prison.</p><p>“What’s what?” Mickey asked, distracted by playing a game on his phone.</p><p>The soft thud of something hitting the bed made him look up to see Ian staring at him with raised eyebrows. Looking down at the bed, he spotted the long sleeved off-white shirt. It was a little worse for wear; Mexico hadn’t been kind to Mickey. And while it was probably a lot tighter on Ian than it had been thanks to all those extra muscles he seemed to grow overnight, it was still baggy on Mickey.</p><p>“It’s a shirt, dumbass,” Mickey said nonchalantly.</p><p>Ian nodded slowly, “it looks just like a shirt I used to--”</p><p>“It’s the same shirt.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Mickey sighed loudly and made sure to insert irritability into his voice when he said, “it is your shirt, bitch.”</p><p>Ian blinked quickly. Mickey watched as he struggled to figure out what to say. Finally, he settled on, “Oh.”</p><p>Mickey picked his phone back up and began to play his game.</p><p>“So you kept the shirt for--”</p><p>“You left it behind.”</p><p>There was a painful silence as his words hung in the air. He wasn’t really playing the game, but he didn’t want to look at Ian and replay the shit that happened at the border. </p><p>While he loved that off-white shirt, it did always make him think about Ian leaving him. It used to bring him comfort every time he saw it, but now it was just a reminder of their years separated. </p><p>But the thing was, he just couldn’t bear to part with it. Even if it brought him pain, it reminded him of Ian. And well, if he couldn’t have the real thing, he’d take his shirt.</p><p>Mickey was so focused on not looking at Ian, he didn’t realize that he sat down right beside him and gave him those wide eyed puppy eyes. </p><p>His <em> heart </em>eyes as Debs would say.</p><p>Mickey had expected him to say something. Some words of comfort. Maybe an apology for all the fucked up shit they’d done to each other. </p><p>He was surprised when Ian leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head. Melting against him, he closed his eyes and basked in the tender gesture. Ian’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and he leaned his head into the crock of his neck. When he opened his eyes, he saw the white long sleeved shirt neatly folded on the end of the bed. </p><p>It was fucking stupid. He knew that it was just a shirt, but it also meant so much more to him than that. </p><p>It survived, like him, in Mexico. </p><p>And, like him, it landed right back where it was supposed to be - where <em> he </em> was supposed to be.</p><p>In Ian Gallagher’s bed.</p><p>He decided to wear it the next day with the new flannel he’d bought. It was getting cold in Chicago and he was going to be surrounded by warmth. </p><hr/><p>Ian’s pants were always a little too big on him. He was shorter, his thighs thicker, his butt rounder. He was okay with all that, but he still took Ian’s pants anyway. Not the jeans or the trousers - the one pair he had for interviews - but the <em> sweatpants </em>. Those were Mickey’s favorite. He was a sucker for them. He liked the feeling of sliding into pure comfort. </p><p>They were fuzzy on the outside and warm on the inside. There was a tiny hole on the top left hand side where Ian had dropped a cigarette and burned through it. When they were sitting around doing nothing on their phones, Mickey would catch Ian looking at it lasciviously. It made Mickey feel all warm and gooey inside.</p><p>The only thing was the sweatpants were too long on Mickey. And Ian found a lot of amusement in it. Mickey would always catch him grinning when he stood up and the bottoms bunched around his feet. That grin made Mickey think of teenage Ian with those millions of freckles and wide, <em> heart </em> eyes.</p><p>“They’re too long for you, Mick,” Ian said, waving at the legs that dragged on the floor.</p><p>“So? They’re comfortable.”</p><p>“You’re going to trip.”</p><p>“You sound like such a worried little bitch.”</p><p>(Years later when the hole in the sweatpants became too big and they became too worn, Ian bought another similar grey pair. It wasn’t long before he cut off a few inches to make sure Mickey could wear them too.)</p><p>~~~ </p><p>After Ian broke his leg, he basically only lived in sweatpants since they were easiest to get on and off. After all the shit with Byron - what a clusterfuck that was - Mickey had taken to helping him in and out of the shower. </p><p>Ian wasn’t going to ask for the help, but Mickey knew he needed it anyway. He knew how fucking stubborn he could be. He could <em> tell </em> Ian needed the help. And probably on some level, he still felt guilty for being the one who pushed him down the stairs in the first place.</p><p>One night when Mickey was helping Ian into the bathtub, he looked at him with a furrowed brow. Mickey wasn’t paying much attention. He spotted a part of the cast that he missed wrapping in plastic, so he was trying to do a quick fix. </p><p>“I’m tired of doing this,” Ian admitted.</p><p>Mickey looked up at him in confusion - and maybe a little fear too because he wasn’t sure what <em> this </em>was supposed to be.</p><p>“What--”</p><p>“I hate dealing with a broken leg. I can’t do - I fucking can’t do anything.”</p><p>He gave him a meaningful look that made Mickey’s heart heavy. Swallowing down the thick guilt that was waffling around in his belly, he looked down at that pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. Those sweatpants that Ian had been wearing nonstop were balled up and looked even more worn.</p><p>“It’s not for that much longer, man. The doctor--”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. And I’m not - I mean.” Ian sighed and leaned against the wall. Mickey took the opportunity to grab the soap and begin lathering Ian up. He washed the both of them in silence, avoiding Ian’s deep green eyes taking in all of his movements. </p><p>They got out of the shower, dried off, and Mickey helped him to their bedroom. Ian fell onto the bed after sliding on his boxers and taking his meds. He was out like a light.</p><p>Mickey wasn’t that tired yet, so he went downstairs and grabbed a pair of scissors from the junk drawer. He did a quick load of laundry and began to convert Ian’s clothes. It wasn’t much, but it would allow him to be a little more comfortable and they would be easier to get on and off. It was better than nothing.</p><p>He definitely wasn’t motivated by guilt to do it.</p><p>The next morning when Ian put on those ugly ass red sweatpants that Mickey hated, he tossed a grin at him and kissed him in ‘thank you.’</p><p>Mickey can’t help the blush that came over his features.</p><hr/><p>Ian had always worn flannels. They just made sense. They lived in Chicago, so of course he was going to wear them when it was fucking cold outside. But his favorite one, the one that he had to stop wearing because it was too small after so many years, was the one he stole from Mickey before they broke up that last time. Before they were married, prison, the border… It was when Ian knew that he couldn’t keep denying there was something wrong with him even though he wanted to just be normal. </p><p>He’d just gotten out of the psych ward and he had to go pick up his shit from Mickey’s to move back in at home. Svetlana let him in with a nasty glare, but he said he’d be quick and she didn’t let him anywhere near Yev. </p><p>He went into Mickey’s room to look around for anything he left behind. He found his red notebook, a few books, and on a whim, he took a dark flannel that smelled like Mickey. It was a precaution - a <em> just in case </em> things ended badly. He grabbed the garbage bag full of stuff next to the front door and left. </p><p>He was right to grab that flannel when he did since a few days later he was being taken in to be court martialed and shit hit the fan. </p><p>After Mickey was hauled away and he had to get used to living without him again after nearly a year of being attached at the hip, he slept with the flannel. It was easier to let go that way. At least, that’s what he told himself. During the day, he’d hide it, afraid his siblings would wash it or worse - throw it away. </p><p>Sleeping with the flannel for one night turned into a few nights and then it was every night he was tucking the flannel tightly to his body and burying his nose in it.</p><p>The night he got back from visiting Mickey in prison, he stowed the flannel away in a box he’d labeled ‘M’ and put it in the attic. </p><p>The entire way home from the prison he stared out the window and bit the skin around his nails until they bled. He kept telling himself he did the right thing, but how could the right thing feel so wrong?</p><p>He knew he needed to let Mickey go. He knew Mickey needed to let him go. </p><p>So he began to collect everything that reminded him of Mickey and that included the flannel. Honestly, he can’t bear to look at it. And it was easier to get rid of it than push away the memory of Mickey’s piercing blue eyes directed on him behind that glass wall. </p><p>Pleading with him to tell a lie that Ian wasn’t even sure was a lie.</p><p>He knew he needed to move on. </p><p><em> Try </em> to move on.</p><p>He repeated it like a mantra as he collected his things.</p><p>He sort’ve did for a little while.</p><p>But on particularly difficult nights - and there are many - he considered journeying into the attic to take out the Mickey box. He would imagine himself hugging the worn flannel that still smelled distantly of cigarettes, Irish Soap, and something distinctly <em> Mickey Milkovich </em>. </p><p>After he left him at the border, he got up the courage to go into the attic and look in the Mickey box. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed up there for, but the flannel was wet with tears he tried not to shed over losing Mickey for the final time.</p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?” Mickey asked, kicking the box in the attic. The ‘M’ was slightly worn from the years of gathering dust, but it’s still there. </p><p>They had been the ones elected to clean the attic and pack it up now that they were selling the house. Until this moment, Ian had almost forgotten the Mickey box was stowed up here.</p><p>“It’s a box, like everything up here,” Ian deadpanned.</p><p>Mickey flicked him off and moved to open it, but Ian told him to stop.</p><p>“Why? You just said it’s just a box.”</p><p>“Yeah, but--” Ian tried to sound irritated, but his voice cracked a bit as he tried again to speak. “It’s a box that I - that I put together after we broke up.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Ian rolled his eyes and stopped sifting through Liam’s old toys. He yanked the tape off the box and opened it to show his husband.</p><p>Mickey began to paw through the items. He saw a few lighters he’d had years ago, some empty packs of cigarettes of the brand he smoked, a few gun magazines, a sci-fi book, a scarf he thought he lost, a math book he used to use to roll joints, a picture of the two of them Mickey hadn’t even known existed, some rolling papers, an unopened bar of Irish Spring, a letter he’d once written Ian about where he’d gone for the day, several drawings, pens, and pencils. It was when he got to the flannel that he paused. If he dug a bit deeper, he probably would’ve found some other shit he hadn’t seen in years.</p><p>“Wondered where this went.” </p><p>Ian ducked his head and looked at the flaps of the box.</p><p>“Why do you have this?” Mickey asked after a beat.</p><p>“Why do you like wearing my clothes?” Ian retorted.</p><p>Mickey raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘fine, whatever.’ Ian sighed reluctantly and forced himself to look him in the eyes.</p><p>“I took it from - I just wanted it, okay? I kept it after we broke up that - that time on the porch before you went to prison.”</p><p>Mickey silently stared at him and Ian wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. </p><p>“Do you want it back?” Ian asked awkwardly. </p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes, but tossed the shirt back in the box and kicked it near the stairs to join the rest of the pile of shit to bring downstairs. </p><p>He didn’t say anything about it again.</p><p>But a few days later after their day to use the washer, Mickey was wearing the flannel. It’s a little tighter than it was when they were teens, but Ian obviously didn’t mind. </p><p>He liked seeing Mickey sitting there in the kitchen wearing that flannel he hid away for such a long time because he couldn’t bear to look at it. </p><p>Once again, it smelled like Mickey - everything smelled like Mickey these days. Ian made a mental note to buy a few more flannels for his husband, ones that were a bit too big, so he could wear them too.</p><p>It was only fair when his husband stole his clothes, and honestly, Ian just really wanted to be surrounded by Mickey Milkovich. It was the only place he ever wanted to be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or kudo if you'd like!</p><p>If you want, you can follow me on tumblr at LivingInSunnyHell.</p><p>Update on future fics: I'm currently working on a big bang fic, so that's pretty much taking up all my time, but I'm super excited for you guys to read it. It's going to be great, lots of pining and sexual tension. I have a few more one shot ideas that I'll probably put out soon if the ideas don't leave me alone. So look out for those coming soon.</p><p>Thanks again for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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